


Angel

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Overwatch - Freeform, Romance, Unrequited Love, Wealth, class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8525392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: She spoke English with a prim British accent, and he with a slurred Texas drawl.She was especially affluent, a beloved member of society among the celebrities. He was just a tramp, a drifter; he belonged nowhere and to nobody.His eyes were dark, robust and mischievous; hers fair, aloof, and fearful. He was madly in love with her. She was madly wary of him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just me dabbling in an interesting romance dynamic of mine. 
> 
> It's different, but I think you'll enjoy it.

I hiss as the table's cold, stainless steel presses against my skin after leaning in. Jesse's phone is cradled in my grasp, unlocked and exposed.

Lena sits across from me. Her chair is pulled up so close that the edge of the table jabs into her abdominal cavity. Sneakers tap the floor like an agitated jack rabbit. 

We're the only ones in the mess hall, the base silent besides Mccree's voice in the distance; he inquires the whereabouts of his device. 

I bite my lip, trying to contain the laughter as my fingers continue scrolling down the screen. I'm in his music.

"Is it *really *just country and western?" Whispers the brunette. Her own amusement causes her voice to sound raspy.

My tongue is sticking out, teeth clenching onto it as I nod up and down. Snickers cackle in the back of my throat. 

However, it's put to a halt when I come to his last album.

Angel Escariet.

Her melodramatic green eyes stare back at me from the cover, red lips half agape, bleached white hair regally cascading over her flawless tan skin. 

"Bahaha!" I allow myself to guffaw. Turning the screen, I allow Tracer to see for herself.

She throws a hand up to her mouth, choking out a similar response. Her shoulders rack with a stifled laughter.

Jesse Mccree is indeed, an Angel Escariet fan.

I've concluded the fact after scrolling through each of the several albums she's recorded during her career. 

However, it's humorous because only young, distant-minded adults and older women listen to Angel Escariet—not washed up, criminal and womanizing cowboys. 

But now, things become clearer. 

I've seen him in the lounge on less busier days. I had happened past, on my way to inspect Reinhardt's armor. 

Jesse sat there on the leather sectional in a cloud of tobacco. Angel was projected in the midst of the room; think he was watching one of her movies. 

Think her leading role was some sort of princess? I don't know. I remember walking in, hoping to catch a few moments of the scene. To him, I uttered a quick hello. 

Jesse responded with a half smile, and a nod, acknowledging my presence. However, his dark eyes immediately flashed back into captivity.

It was an intimate moment in the movie, the close up allowing her countenance to show some sort of supernatural beauty in the vivid HD. 

I'd studied theater enough to appreciate the perfect lighting. You could see every glint of color in her eyes.

Though Mcree's mutual expression was a bit distant, the awe was still present.

So I left him to his movie, but originally thought nothing of it. The same movie premiers every weekend on sporadic channels.

Now, however, I'm thinking differently. 

Jesse *really* likes Angel. But that's too shallow. Millions of men *really* like Angel. Jesse Mccree is different, however. 

He *needs* Angel. But why? Today, I'm going to confront him about it. 

"What're y'all gigglin' at?" 

The subject of your laughter appeared in the entrance way of the mess hall. 

His iconic cowboy hat had come askew from his running up and down the hallways looking for the thing sitting in my hands. 

"Looking for something?" I jest, holding the phone up with a little, teasing wave as I flash Angel at him.

After Jesse shuffles over, his eyes darken. 

"Gimme that." 

The phone, and Angel, is snatched away from me. 

"Y'all really got some nerve." His voice is low, and rumbling.

I shrug, trying to play it off.

"Come on Jess, there's no shame in being an Angel Escariet fan."

A spitter bursts forth from the mess hall's entrance way. This time, it's Lucio overhearing us.

"Aw, man!" He laughs, whipping out his own device. Lucio continues walking, passing the mess hall instead of coming in like he initially planned. 

"Wait till D hears this!" 

Jesse hasn't taken his eyes off me. Sure, he was normally a charismatic guy to be around. But, any stern expression from him means the games are over.

He's deadeyeing me.


End file.
